Denial
by bossy
Summary: It started out as a mistake. One night of too much drinking with the boys that landed me in bed with the Aussie. I don’t remember getting there or what happened, but due to my nudity, I could make an educated guess. Jonda.
1. The Problem

**A/N: **I'm a bad writer. I start new fics without finishing the old ones. But this one's been bugging me for a while, so it's probably best to just get it out. Anyway, this is shaping up to be a 4 or 5 chapter fic, as told through Wanda's point of view.

**WARNING:** This fic will contain strong sexual topics/situations and brief, yet lightly detailed descriptions of sexual acts. So now you're warned, and if my fic gets reported I will have to seek out and destroy whoever was dim-witted enough to realize, when a fic is rated M, it is for mature readers. And trust me, this is in no way a porno, so deal. And with that said:

**Disclaimer:** I do not own. I do not make money. I cannot afford a lawyer. That is all.

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**C****hapter One: The Problem**

It started out as a mistake. One night of too much drinking with the boys that landed me in bed with the Aussie. I don't remember getting there or what happened, but due to my nudity, I could make an educated guess. He seemed to remember clearly and was not shy about letting me on the details of how he ended up in my bed.

"Y'asked me ta carry ya up ta yer room 'cause y'were too drunk," he told me, grinning in a way that made me want to throttle him. "I put ya down on yer bed and ya asked me not ta leave. An' the rest is history."

"I highly doubt that I seduced you in any way," I argued, holding my throbbing head. I remember playing the game 'Have You Ever' and not much else.

"Are ya insinuatin' that I took advantage of ya when y'were drunk?" John accused in mock outrage.

"Yes," I answered, waiting for him to explain what _really _happened.

"I can assure ya that I didn' force nothin' on ya," John maintained. "Y'were a willin' participant th' whole time."

"Fine," I relented, through clenched teeth. I gave him a wicked shove off the bed. "Then I can chalk this up to just a big mistake."

From where he landed on the floor, he looked up at me, and I could tell that my words hurt him. I was angry, and saying mean things was the best way to express myself at the time. I'm sure if I'd asked him, John would agree that he'd prefer the mean words to being hexed into a wall.

I knew he'd get over it, too. By dinner that night, he was back to his screwball self, though he wouldn't look at me directly. But then again, no one would. Todd had done them all the favor of being the idiot to ask what went on with Pyro the night before, and he was the one who _did_ get hexed into the wall.

When Pietro asked me what really happened almost a week later, I could calmly explain it to him.

"It was a mistake," I stated, shrugging. "Shit happens."

"Seriously, Wanda," he persisted. "You don't care?"

"It's not like I can change what happened," I reasoned. "I can just make sure it doesn't happen again."

This didn't seem to pacify my brother very much, but he quit asking. I had resolved that it was over and done with, and I didn't have to deal with it anymore. Until John came calling one night a few weeks later. He had gotten through the door by coming up with a lame line about having found my pillow. Now that I think about it, it was probably him who took it in the first place.

"Looks different 'n here," he commented as he strolled in, my pillow under one arm. "Did ya redecorate?"

I snatched my pillow from him. "Out."

"Don't be cranky, Sheila," he crooned, sitting on my bed. "I'm just tryin' ta make conversation."

"And I'm not having it," I told him, pulling on his arm to get him off my bed. "You can go now."

"But I don't want ta," John insisted, grabbing hold of my wrist and pulling me toward him.

"But I do," I hissed, now preoccupied with getting him to let go of my wrist. It was to no avail. He successfully dragged me to him and locked his arms around me. "Let go!"

"Why?" he asked, completely serious.

"Because if you don't, I'm going to he-"

He kissed me. I will admit that I was shocked, but only for about two seconds. I hexed him backwards, and though the bed stopped him from going very far, it was enough to get him to let go of me. He frowned at me when he looked at me, but before he could say anything, I slapped him.

"What?" he asked, successfully sounding confused and successfully pissing me off.

"What do you mean, 'what?'" I yelled. "You deserved it."

"All I did was kiss ya," he said, rubbing his face. "It's not like I felt ya up er somethin."

"Get out of my room!" I yelled, apparently loud enough to draw my brother's attention. Less than a second later, he was standing next to me.

"What're you doing in here, Allerdyce?" Pietro inquired.

"Shove off, Pietro," John told him. "This is between me an' Wanda."

"Now it's between you and me," Pietro argued.

"That's enough!" I yelled again. By this time, I was sure the entire Brotherhood knew something was going on. "John, just go."

He was still locked in a glaring match with my brother, but after a few moments actually got up and walked out. I sighed, half in relief, half in exasperation. I was starting to get a headache.

"Wanda," Pietro prompted, hoping for an explanation.

"Don't worry, Pietro," I assured him. "John's stupid, but I doubt he's stupid enough to try and purposefully hurt me."

"What about unpurposefully?" he asked, in all seriousness.

"Thanks for worrying about me, Pietro," I told him, sitting down on my bed and changing the subject.

"You're my sister," he reasoned, shrugging. "I feel the need."

I laughed, which made him smile a little. I didn't know why, but he always looked…sad when I'd look him in the eyes. It was like he knew something bad was going to happen, but wouldn't tell me what. I shrugged it off and wished him goodnight. He told me he was going to buy a lock for my door the next day. Even though I laughed at that too, I knew he was serious.

I crawled into my bed and buried my face in my pillow. I realized that it smelled like John and threw it across the room and vowed to wash it in the morning. Which actually ended up being afternoon. I slept like a brick and didn't wake up before noon. It was nearly two o'clock before I was dressed and headed out the door to the laundry mat.

I don't wash my clothes in the machine at the Brotherhood house for two reasons. One, the thing looked like someone had thrown up in it, which was quite possible. Two, the Toad thieved my clothes when I wasn't looking. It made my stomach turn to think of him getting off to my underwear.

So I traveled to the laundry mat on the 'bad' side of town. In other words, the one that no one else went to because mutants went there. It was fine with me; I could wash and dry all my clothes in about an hour and a half. I would be back home before dinner. However, it was Todd's turn to cook and/or order out, and I wasn't sure if I wanted to be there anyway.

With an hour and a half to kill, I sat down and read the old magazine issues. That lasted for about ten minutes before I got bored. Along with the few tables and chairs there used to be a functional television, but the screen had been broken on it for a few weeks. The minutes slowly ticked by before the washing machines finally stopped and I was able to switch them over to the dryers.

As I moved the contents of the washers to the dryers, I heard the door open and close. My shoulders tensed in anticipation. On more than one occasion, some idiot mutant haters had tried to attack me because I was there by myself. They learned the hard way. Hence, the broken television.

"There's somethin' 'bout a woman doin' laundry that's so sexy," I heard commented from behind me, and immediately rolled my eyes.

"St. John Allerdyce, can I go anywhere without you following?" I asked rhetorically. When I finished loading my clothes into the dryers I turned around to face him. He leaned against the washers opposite of me, smirking.

"I wanted ta talk ta ya," he admitted. "We got interrupted last night."

"I was done talking to you," I insisted.

"Listen, sheila-" he started, but my patience wore out.

"Don't call me sheila," I interrupted.

"Wanda," he said, this time more insistently. He pushed off from the washer and started walking towards me. I deemed it time to walk away. He caught my wrist again and stopped me in my tracks. "Will ya just listen ta me?"

"Fine. Say what you need to say, then leave me alone," I told him. He still held my wrist, annoying me greatly. He looked very frustrated, which made me feel a little better. I stumbled somewhat when he suddenly yanked on my wrist and found myself being kissed by him again.

My captured wrist was stuck between us while my free hand tried to push him away, and his free hand held my chin in place. When he finally let go I pulled back and gasped for air, glaring at him. I reached back to slap him again but he caught that wrist too.

With both my arms detained he backed me into a washer so I could not pull away and kissed me again. Many things were running through my mind at this point, mostly obscenities directed at John. But the most unexpected was the thought of how I was slowly becoming aroused. I was by no means ready to jump his bones, but it wasn't an unpleasant feeling.

John, on the other hand was very aroused. His kisses had started out slow and gentle, as corny as that sounds, but were soon fierce and unrelenting. It was almost like a drug the way that man kissed, and I could feel my anger slowly slipping away. I realized that he had let go of my wrists some time ago and that my arms had snaked around his waist when I wasn't paying attention.

John didn't seem to mind as he picked me up and carried me over to one of the tables. Had I been in my right mind, I might have struggled, but I had gone from being just a little aroused to very aroused in just a few minutes. He laid me back on the table and climbed on, never breaking his gaze from mine. His hands were freed to work on my shirt, which was little more than three buttons down the front.

It was almost a shock to feel his hands run over bare skin. He left my lips alone and continued southward, kissing down my neck and chest. I stared up at the ceiling blankly, feeling incredible but wondering what the hell I was doing. Reality came crashing back to me and I suddenly pushed John off of me. It was easy, considering the way he was perched on the table.

I jumped off the other side and headed for the door, buttoning my shirt back up. I decided to forego collecting the laundry, lest John try to kiss me into submission again. I berated myself for being so weak as I ran down the street back towards the Brotherhood house, and could hear John yelling from behind me as he tried to catch up.

Of all the things I've picked up from my brother, my stamina for running was my favorite. I ran the entire way back to the Brotherhood house without getting tired and with only a little shortness of breath. When I reached my room, I almost laughed to see Pietro changing the door lock. He agreed to go pick up my laundry after he was finished with the lock, and thankfully didn't ask questions.

I doubted he needed to. He always seemed able to tell without asking. I chalked up the fact that John didn't come knocking on my door for the rest of the night to that. The first day Pietro left the house without me was a different story though. John sat outside my door and insisted that I let him in. I knew better than to open that door. But, eventually, I had to leave my room. And that's when he would pounce.

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**A/N:** Sorry for the rant at the beginning. As you can tell, I've had problems with this before…Anyway, feedback is desired. Let me know if I missed any errors (besides the intentional ones that are my weak attempt at an Australian accent).


	2. The Solution

A/N: Well, here's the 2nd installment. It's longer than last time. Hazaa.I know I'm gonna get flamed for this one...

Disclamer: See previous chapter...

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**Chapter Two: The Solution**

I still maintained that it was a mistake. I clarified that to him several times over the following days, but John was persistent. He kept on about it, saying that it could remain as no strings attached. I finally lost my temper one night and hexed him into a wall. That started a series of events that lead to my giving into his consistent badgering.

"Ow, sheila, that 'urt," he complained as he sat on the floor in a heap at the base of the stairs.

"Good. That was the intention," I hissed, climbing the stairs to my room. My brother was out doing who knew what, so John had been harassing me again.

"Why ya gotta be so violent?" he muttered, pushing up off the floor to the standing position again. "I knew y'were wild 'n the sack, but relly—"

"Oh, that's it," I decided, whirling around and walking back down the stairs, my hands taking on a familiar blue tinge. "You're dead!"

John stared at me for a moment, as if to judge whether I was serious or not, then thought the better of it. He ran out the front door but didn't make it outside of the yard before a hex bolt hit him square in the back.

I smiled as he was pitched forward face first into the ground. I could hear him curse as he spit out some dirt, and he turned on me with a look of purely evil intent. He stood up and brushed himself off as best he could before leveling his eyes with me.

"Sheila, y'do know that this mens war," he stated, slowly walking towards me as he dug his hand into his pocket.

I knew immediately what he was searching for and decided to run around to the side of the house where the hose was. Like hell was I going to let him catch me in a fire ring or something. I found the hose after a bit of searching, since the sun had set a few hours before.

I heard the grass crunching behind me and my adrenaline immediately jumped. I knew he was standing right behind me as I crouched and reached for the handle to turn on the faucet. The scraping of a spark from a lighter came from behind me and fire danced on either side of my body.

"Damned fire starter," I muttered as the flames settled themselves on the faucet handle.

"It don' hafta be this way, y'know," John whispered. I was still glaring at the burning faucet handle as he crouched down behind me.

"Yeah, if you would just leave me alone," I growled. I mentally prepared myself for the inevitable stinging and slammed my hand down on the faucet handle and turned it. I hissed at the temperature of the metal handle and yanked my hand away, dropping the hose to instead clutch the wrist of my burned hand.

"Damn it, sheila, what'd ya do that fer?" John asked, reaching around me and pulling me up. He half pushed me back inside the house and into the bathroom, turning the cold water on and thrusting my hand under it.

Thus far the shock from the pain in my hand had put me into a state of mental numbness (so much for mentally preparing myself), but the moment my hand hit the water, I remembered who I was and why I was so mad.

"This is all your fault!" I accused, elbowing him in the gut. He stumbled backward and hit the wall gracelessly, looking up at me with his jaw slack.

"I didn' make ya shove yer 'and down on a burnin' faucet," John defended.

"None of this would have happened if you would just leave me alone!" I yelled, tears filling my eyes as a giant circular blister began to rise on my hand.

"But sheila," he began, but I interrupted.

"But nothing!" I screamed. The glass in the mirror began to crack as well as the faucet rattling as the plumbing started to shake. John was at least smart enough to realize that he should vacate the small bathroom as soon as possible and ran out the door. And straight into my brother.

"What the hell did you do this time, Allerdyce?" Pietro asked as he shoved him out of the way and ran to me. I'll give Pietro credit where it's due; he certainly is the bravest one for actually approaching me when I'm having a fit.

The faucet on the sink had busted due to the pressure and was spraying water into the air. The mirror had long since shattered and long, seam-like cracks ran up the wall. I had my good hand holding onto the counter to keep me steady as I tried in vain to calm myself down.

Pietro turned off the water and surveyed the damage before turning to me. "Should I get the Xanax?"

I thought about it for a moment, then shook my head. The anti-anxiety pills would probably help calm me down, but would do nothing for the source of my anger, which was the pain in my hand. A small sob escaped me as I clutched my burnt hand to my chest.

"I need to go for a walk," I whispered. I was soaked and looked like a drown rat, but I knew if I stayed in the house I would probably end up causing something else to explode. I walked out of the bathroom and past the boys to the front door.

"What's wrong with your hand?" Pietro asked, suddenly at my side again. He caught a glimpse of my blistered hand and the last thing I heard before I exited the Brotherhood House was the sound of Pietro and John starting to fight.

I walked aimlessly for a while as I got used to the throbbing in my hand. I ended up in front of the Xavier Mansion somehow, but I had a feeling I'd had a little 'help' getting there. The professor sat at the gates as if he were waiting for me, shaking his head at the sad sight of me.

"I should really start charging your father for the medical bills you accumulate," he said as he led the way into the mansion.

"If you could find him," I finished for him. No one had seen or heard from my father in over six months. No doubt, he was plotting something insidious but since he hadn't made contact with anyone, it was a guessing game to when he would finally surface again.

"You remember Dr. McCoy, don't you?" the professor introduced, indicating to a huge man covered in blue fur.

I didn't, but nodded my head anyway.

"Let's take a look at that hand now, shall we?" Dr. McCoy proposed, but I held back. He quirked his head to the side. "Is something the matter?"

"My nerves are shot," I stated.

"Perhaps you would like an anesthetic," the professor suggested. "Why don't you lie down and relax, and we'll take care of everything."

I heeded his words because all of a sudden it became very difficult to keep my eyes open. I barely remembered lying down before I was being shaken to wake up.

"You're all set, Ms. Maximoff," Dr. McCoy told me. I looked at my hand, which was now numb. It was covered in white bandages. Dr. McCoy handed me a bottle of pills and a small bottle of lotion. "Take these every six hours, and change the bandages twice a day while applying the medicated lotion until it runs out."

"Okay," I mumbled, popping a pill and standing up.

"Do you need anymore Xanax?" the professor asked as he led me out of his massive house.

"No," I told him. Wasn't he the one who warned me about getting hooked on the stuff?

"Well, do let me know if you need anything else," the professor instructed. I nodded and walked silently out the door. "And no more physically abusing each other. The next person who shows up with a bleeding appendage will see no sympathy from me."

I waved my hand over my head to signify that I heard him and made my way across the grounds to the gate. I smiled at the small joy of seeing my brother there waiting for me. I noticed that he had about a dozen band-aids covering his arms and face.

"Burns?" I asked.

"Don't worry," my brother advised lightly. "I guarantee that our resident pyromaniac is feeling it more than I am right now."

"Sorry about the bathroom," I apologized, knowing that he'd be the one who'd have to arrange to get it fixed.

"At least we don't have to buy another TV," he joked. "And anyway, I'm making Allerdyce pay for the repairs."

"Oh yeah, that'll happen," I sarcastically predicted.

"Come on," he said, holding out his hand. "I'll carry you home."

"I can walk, you know," I argued.

"Yeah, but you're so slow," my brother grinned. I smacked his hand away, but let him carry me home anyway. It only took about three seconds, versus the hour walk I would have managed on my own.

"Baby cakes!" the Toad announced the moment we walked in the door. "You're just in time!"

I rolled my eyes and remained in the doorway. My brother pushed me the rest of the way into the house and joined the others in the living room. I could tell by the bottles stacked on what was left of the coffee table that the guys were planning another drinking binge.

"No way," I disagreed, walking up the stairs. "I'm not in the mood."

"But we're celebrating tonight," the Toad whined. "You gotta have at least one drink tonight."

"Celebrating what?" I asked, pausing midway up the stairs.

"It's the anniversary of all of us getting expelled from Bayville High," he revealed. It was a stupid reason to celebrate, but what did I expect.

"One drink," I gave in.

"One Jaeger Bomb coming up," the Toad announced, hopping over to the coffee table to pour drinks.

"How do I know I'm going to regret this?" I asked quietly as I walked back down the stairs. I entered the living room and found the boys circled around the table. A shot waited for me in the empty space between my brother and Lance.

"Betcha I can drink you under the table," Pietro bragged as I sat down.

"Betcha you're right," I agreed half-heartedly. "I'm only having one drink."

"Lightweight," Lance muttered. I elbowed him since I couldn't punch him.

"Who drank who under the table last time?" I queried.

Lance paused for a minute, trying to come up with a suitable comeback. "I don't remember."

"Yeah, 'cause you passed out after your twelfth shot," Freddie reminded him. Lance gave him a death glare as the rest of us laughed.

"Yeah, so, you didn't last much more than I did," Lance accused me.

"I made it through the end of the bottle," I clarified. "We ran out of booze and had to stop anyway."

"Back to more important matters," my brother interrupted. "Here's to being forced to be a high school drop out."

We all downed our shots, and I resisted the urge to hack it all back up. I hate shots.

"What a sad sight y'all are," John observed, leaning in the doorway.

"Who asked you?" Pietro countered. I just stared at the table.

"Relax, Peppy," John taunted. "I jus' came for a lil SoCo."

"If you don't contribute to the booze fund, you don't get any," Lance announced. John dropped a twenty down on the coffee table and took the entire bottle of Southern Comfort in exchange.

"That's not a little SoCo, and twenty isn't going to cover the whole bottle," Lance argued. "Either lay down more money or sit here and you're cut off at half a bottle."

"What, ya men 'm invited ta this lil shindig?" John mocked. "Never went ta 'igh school."

"Maybe that's why you're a stupid little fucker," Pietro surmised, adding his own two cents.

"Yeah, but that don't explain yer stupid ass," John countered. "Oh, wait. Tha's right. We can blame ya on Magneto."

"Look who talks tough when the big man ain't around," Pietro said. "You wanna blame me on my father? Fine. Whatever you say. At least I know _who_ my father is."

I stared at Pietro. Did he really just say that? I could tell from the silence that hung in the room that the others were asking themselves the same question. I finally looked at John, but surprisingly, he wasn't outraged. In fact, he had an evil grin on his face.

"Well, I ain' th' only one 'ere who don't know who m'father is," he chuckled. "But since we're on th' subject, why doncha explain ta yer sister just who yer father is. Or should I do it fer ya?"

"Why don't you just shut the fuck up and sit down," I answered before my brother could. I didn't feel the need to be dragged into one of their verbal arguments. "Or go upstairs. I don't care. Just shut up."

"Here, here, yo," the Toad cheered, and barely ducked the swing John took at him.

"So what should we drink to next?" Lance asked, trying to change the subject.

"Pathetically dwindling away our youth through underage alcoholism," I muttered, my head kinda fuzzy. It was weird. I usually didn't get that tipsy after one shot.

"Pour the drinks," Lance commanded quickly, willing to accept anything as an answer as long as it kept everyone from fighting.

"I don't want another," I protested.

"You called the toast, so you have to drink," Lance argued. I groaned and picked up my shot.

"If we're still doing this when we're thirty, I'm going to do us all the favor of a mass mercy killing," I toasted, threw back my shot, then got up. "Thank you and good night."

I walked out despite the protests, holding on very tightly to the railing as I walked up the stairs. I was very wobbly and my vision was swimming. By the time I made it to the top of the stairs, I remembered why I was in such an inebriated condition: the blue guy had given me pain pills. This was why you never mix pills and alcohol.

I was starting to feel really loopy really quickly. I decided that the best way to remedy this was to go to bed. I didn't even change my clothes as I climbed in, save to remove my boots. The problem was that when I lied down, the room started to sway back and forth.

I groaned and sat up, starting to become a little motion sick. I put my hand on the small table next to my bed to help stop myself from leaning too far to one side or the other. It was then that I heard someone messing with my doorknob.

I carefully got up and weaved my way over to my door, opening it on whoever was trying to nonchalantly break in. And who should stand before me but John, looking rather pathetic. I groaned and tried to shut the door on him but was unsuccessful.

"Uh, so, 'ow are ya?" he stumbled, stepping in and closing the door behind him. I looked at him as if he'd grown a third head.

"Peachy," I replied, monotone.

"I men, 'ow's yer 'and?" he tried again. I waved my bandaged hand at him.

"I'll live," I predicted.

"Look, sheila," he started. I glared at him for that word again. "'M sorry ya got 'urt."

"It wouldn't have happened if you'd just left me alone," I half slurred.

"But I can' do that," he muttered. I was still glaring at him.

"Why not?" I asked, not expecting a plausible answer.

"B'cause I like ta kiss ya," he said, walking up to me so that his face was inches from mine. I instinctively tried to back up but ended up stumbling. John caught me before I landed on my butt and pulled me flush against him.

"Leggo," I slurred, pushing against his shoulders. Instead, he took the opportunity to kiss along my neck. "Stop it."

"No," he replied, then kissed my lips. Life performed déjà vu and I found myself being kissed into complacency again. He wasted no time in pushing me back onto my bed and working off my shirt. I gave him a hard shove when he stopped kissing me long enough to pull my shirt off. Unfortunately he did not fall off the bed this time.

"Quit it," I hissed, trying to grab my shirt back. He tossed it to the other side of the room. "Bastard!"

"Don' get nasty," he chided, leaning down to kiss me again. I reached up with both hands and covered his mouth, wincing at the pressure put on my burnt hand.

"I said no," I repeated. He pulled my hands away easily.

"Come on, sheila," he whined.

"No," I persisted.

"I'll make ya a deal," he suggested. "Just 'ear me out, 'kay?"

I glared at him while I waited for him to continue.

"No strins attached," he said. "Just sex. We both get some pleasure outta this an' don't hafta worry 'bout bein' in a relationship or our reputations bein' ruined or whatever."

I snorted at the absurdity of his suggestion. "No."

"Ya know ya wan me," he persisted.

"In your dreams," I retaliated.

"It's true," he argued. "I know ya do. Yer body reacts ta mine and ya can't deny it."

"Bullshit," I denied anyway.

"Yer breath is shaky, yer skin has goose pimples all over," he insisted. His hand slid down my stomach and in between my legs. I tried to close them, but his knee in between mine blocked me. "And ya feel it 'ere."

I slapped his hand away attempted to hex him, but was too drunk to aim, let alone focus what little energy I had into an attack. John kissed me again and I barely had the strength to fight him off. So I didn't. I let him have his way and stared at him while he pulled off the rest of my clothes. Apparently this unnerved him or something. After a minute, he sat up and stared back.

"Don' look at me like that," he commanded. I just continued to stare.

"Don' look at me like I'm doin' somthin' wrong," he said, finally looking away. He sighed and lay down on top of me, looking me straight in the eye. "Yes or no, right now."

I opened my mouth to say no, but something devious entered my mind. He said that he just wanted the sex, but it was blatant to me that he was in some way emotionally attached. Honestly, I knew John could go out and find any girl to sleep with and keep it no strings attached. But the question was why me?

'Well, Johnnie,' I thought, 'you should know better than anyone, if you play with fire, you're gonna get

burned.'

It was all clear to me, as fuzzy as I was at the time. I'm usually not this devious or evil, but from the all the crap the boy had given me in the last couple days, he seemed like a good enough reason to indulge myself. In more ways than one. So I did it. I said yes.

I agreed to it as I mentally concocted a plan to prove him wrong and get my revenge. He smirked as I promised him that he'd regret it later. And even though I meant it, being half plastered and coming up with master plans of revenge is never a good idea. The words had no more than left my mouth when he was on me again. And just about every night since then.

I don't know if it was true of any other Australians, but John was a good kisser. Nevermind good, make that exquisite. It's probably what got me in this position in the first place. That and the way he stared at me when he did it. It seemed as if he never closed his eyes and was always watching me, capturing me in his gaze.

He stared at me while he kissed me, removing my shirt at the same time. He loved watching my reaction as he undressed me, smirking when he'd toss the piece of clothing to the other side of the room. Once I stood naked before him, he'd take my hands and direct them to the piece of clothing he wanted removed. I usually never got any farther than his shirt before his patience faltered and he pulled the rest of his clothes off in a mad rush.

There was hardly ever any foreplay either. He was usually in too big a hurry to bother with it. Not that I cared, though. He wasn't just bragging when he called himself a god in bed. He always delivered. But don't get me wrong, I didn't just lay there and take it. I gave just as good as I got. And, yes, it's because I am very well practiced.

I refuse to concede to those who call me a slut, though. They are obviously ill educated and should actually look the word up in the dictionary. They'd probably find themselves more related to the word than I. We didn't have a relationship beyond friends-with-benefits and neither of us wanted more than that.

Supposedly. I questioned John's motives and often vocalized my thoughts, usually after one of our many trysts. He'd always deny it, right before he'd roll back on top of me and fall asleep, usually spending the night there. If that doesn't qualify as attachment, I don't know what does.

I started working out a list of guys that I could recruit for my plan. Unfortunately, most of the guys I knew that I wasn't related to had one of three snags: they were already involved in a relationship, they were too disgusting, or they just plain wouldn't go for it.

Of all of the guys I knew, the only one I could ask was Remy Le Beau. He had a female obsession, but that relationship would go nowhere, with those two personalities that were too stubborn to admit their attraction. But that also meant that he may not go for it. I resolved to ask him, knowing that the worst he could do was say no.

And so I traveled to the Institute, feeling quite stupid when I came up to the tall gates and was at a loss of what to do. Lucky for me, they opened on their own and I walked to the main doors of the house. The professor sat in his wheelchair at the front door, waiting.

"Well, you look amazingly uninjured," he observed, leaning back in his chair. "To what do I owe this pleasure, Ms. Maximoff?"

"You're psychic, you tell me," I answered. We sparred verbally for the hell of it. Well, I did anyway.

"Gambit is currently running a course in the Danger Room," the professor told me, allowing me to enter. "He should be done soon, though."

I followed him through the labyrinth that was his mansion to what was apparently the Danger Room. Behind thick walls of steel, I could hear explosions and people yelling. After a few minutes, the door opened and students began filing out, most giving me an odd look as they passed. Remy was one of the last to exit, also giving me an odd look.

"Whas up, cherie? Did y'miss Remy?" he asked, sauntering up to me and standing extremely close, trying to look suave or something. I placed one foot behind his and leaned forward. As expected, he tried to step back and tripped, falling gracelessly onto his butt.

"Serves ya right, swamp rat," Rouge told him as she stepped over him, laughing the rest of the way down the hall.

"Swamp rat. I like it," I commented as Remy stood up again.

"Did cherie come all dis way jus' ta make Remy look like an ass?" he inquired, not amused.

"I don't need to come here for you to look like an ass. You do a fine job on your own," I teased. The look on his face showed that he wasn't in the mood.

"What ya want, cherie?" he asked again.

I motioned down the hall. "Walk with me."

"Remy don' feel like playin' games," he told me. "Get ta th' point."

"You want it straight forward?" I reiterated, glancing at him. He nodded. "Fine. I want you to sleep with me."

Remy stopped walking. "Say what?"

"Oh, so now you want me to explain," I mocked. I still had his full attention. "I would prefer to do this elsewhere."

"Fine. Remy take y'home," he agreed. He led me down to the garages and I climbed into his jeep. Once we had left the mansion property, I began to explain my situation. I told him about the night that I got drunk and slept with John. And about how John kept coming onto me afterwards, and wouldn't give up. He seemed to find this funny.

I ignored his chuckles of amusement and continued. I explained what the situation was now, how John insisted that it was just casual sex and nothing more. I told him that I wanted to prove to John that he'd been lying that night to both me and himself, and how I believed that this was the best way to spell it out for him. And hopefully get him off my back.

"Soun' like cherie got it all planned out," Remy concluded, turning down the street to the Brotherhood house. "Jus' need someone willin' t'do it."

"Exactly," I agreed, thrilled that he understood so clearly.

"Remy mus' decline," he revealed. My stomach dropped.

"Why?" I inquired, truly curious.

"Trut' be told, Remy like Johnnie," he admitted. "He's a nut job sometime, but he ain't ever done Remy wrong."

"Damn it," I muttered under my breath. Remy had been my only hope. I really didn't want to go pick up some slob from the bar to get my point across, but it looked like it was going to come down to that.

"Remy don' think cherie es as bad off as y'say," he continued. "If es truly no strings attached, jus' end it."

"But that's my point," I cried, frustrated. "Even if I tell him it's over, he's not going to leave me alone. It's like he won't take no for an answer."

"Jus' tell him es over," Remy insisted. "If Johnnie don' stop harrassin' cherie in a week, Remy will help."

"You promise?" I asked as we pulled into the driveway.

"Yeah, cherie," Remy said. I made him shake on it. I still didn't trust the thief to keep his word, but he seemed confident that John would get the point. I hopped out of his jeep and walked inside, noting in annoyance that John was staring out the kitchen window at Remy as he left.

"Where ya been?" he inquired, following me up the stairs.

"Since when is it your business where I go?" I countered with little enthusiasm.

"Y'coulda asked me fer a ride," was his retort. "Ya didn' hafta bother Remy."

"Who said I was bothering him?" I asked, unlocking my door. John was practically my shadow as he made sure to get in my room before I shut the door.

"I missed ya," he admitted, changing the subject and trying to grab hold of me. I sighed in exasperation as I half kicked him off of me. I'm in the house less than a minute and he's trying to get into my pants.

"You're about to be missing me a lot more," I muttered. He seemed to hear me and stopped trying to grope me for a minute.

"What?" he prompted.

"I'm done," I told him. "This fuck-buddy thing has gotten old. I don't want to do it anymore."

"Aw, come on," he whined. I smacked him in the arm.

"I said no," I repeated, finding it hard not to start yelling at him. "I don't want this anymore and I'm tired of dealing with you. So it's over."

"But sheila," he started, making me lose my cool again.

"If you can't use my name, don't talk to me!" I yelled, getting behind him and pushing him to the door. He didn't resist much, which kind of surprised me.

"Y'really don' wanna do this anymore?" he asked, stopping in front of the door. That question surprised me even more. It sounded like he was actually shocked to hear that revelation.

"No, I don't," I insisted, staring at the back of his head. He suddenly walked out of my room and closed the door. I was really perplexed at the moment, but resolved to not think on it. Maybe Remy was right and I just had to spell it out to John that I didn't want to do it anymore.

That was the comforting thought that lead to the best sleep I'd had in quite some time. Not only because of the feeling of resolution, but also because John wasn't there pawing at me or snoring in my ear. I woke up at a decent hour and went down stairs to see what was being considered as breakfast.

When my brother cooks, it's always a banquet. He gets impatient waiting for one breakfast item to cook and starts another. By the time breakfast is ready, we have a multi-course meal. Where Pietro comes up with the money to buy all the food is beyond me. Another thing that happens as a result of my brother cooking is that everyone eats.

I enjoyed the meal as I normally would, but dreaded having to do the dishes after. Pietro and I agreed that he would cook whenever it was one of our turns as long as I cleaned up after him. It wasn't as bad as it sounds. It's just that he uses a _lot_ of dishes.

I started the dishes as soon as I finished, knowing that I'd be washing for at least an hour. Over the course of the morning the different members of the house wandered through and ate their fill. Except for Blob. He never seemed to get full; he just ate until the food ran out.

I was so engrossed in the dishes that I almost missed John as he set his plate on the stack waiting to be washed. It seemed rather odd to me that he was so quiet. And he didn't say anything as he passed. It was like he was trying to ignore me. Not that I minded; it was nice not to be stalked for a change.

Pietro decided after breakfast that it was a good day to cause trouble. On his whim we headed out for the park, intending to see how long it took of loitering around to get asked to leave. Then the 'fun' would begin. It turned out to only take about twenty minutes before someone 'suggested' we leave, and the boys had their fun.

Pietro depants-ed several people in a manner of seconds, Todd slimed the ground causing people to slip in their haste to leave the park, Lance cracked the sidewalk to make people trip, Blob crushed drinking fountains with his fists and caused water to spray everywhere, and John lit the trash cans on fire. I sat on one of the park benches, picking at my nails.

I knew it was only going to be a matter of time before the X-men showed up. They seemed to have radar for us. We couldn't go anywhere without running into at least one of them. The ones who had the honor of dealing with us today were Cyclops, the red-headed girl, Kitty, Rouge, Nightcrawler and Remy. I sat back with a grin on my face knowing that this was going to be pure comedy to watch.

Lance made an ass of himself without any help when confronted with Kitty. They hadn't resolved their on-again off-again relationship yet, and from what I had gathered from his complaining, she was also seeing Colossus. Good for her.

Todd was pitted against Nightcrawler, which didn't seem unusual to me. Those two seemed to have a constant rivalry going on about something, but I didn't care to ask. Blob was paired against the red head, I forget her name. The poor guy's got the biggest crush on her, and despite getting his own ass handed to him, he still is infatuated with her.

My brother tortured Cyclops, but also got tortured back a bit. Cyclops seemed to be learning a strategy for dealing with my brother all the time. I was almost impressed. John played with Rouge, and I laughed at how he was letting his butt get kicked on purpose. Apparently he has a thing against fighting girls. Remy sat down on the bench next to me.

"Y'bored, cherie?" he asked, leaning back.

"Same shit, different day," I commented.

"Did cherie take Remy's advice an' talk ta Johnnie?" he inquired.

"Yes," I admitted.

"An' was Remy right?" he prompted.

"So far," I informed him, leaning forward and resting my chin in my hands. "It's only been one day, though. Let's see what the weekend brings."

By this time, my lame roommates had tired of getting their butts kicked and decided it was time to leave. A light rain had begun to fall, so we headed home rather early, and I wondered what I would do for the rest of the evening. The boys had already decided that it was a good night for another drinking binge, and considering what happened the last times I partook in such an event, I excluded myself.

I locked myself in my room, literally, and decided to read one of the books on the shelf in my room. I had no idea who the books belonged to, but they'd been there since I moved in. Several discarded books later, I was still bored. I snuck out of my room long enough to make myself something for dinner.

I could hear the boys in the living room, and from the sound of it, they were playing the game 'Have You Ever' again. I greatly disliked that game. Mostly because I ended up drinking a lot in a short amount of time. The boys seemed to like asking questions that I had to say yes to.

I made it back upstairs without incident, locking my door again. I whirled around when I heard my bed shift. John stared back at me, grinning maniacally. I could tell he was drunk by the dark circles around his eyes and the way he swayed back and forth just sitting there.

I rolled my eyes and opened the door again, standing next to it while I motioned for John to leave. He had the audacity to fall backwards and sprawl himself over my bed. I sighed in exasperation, knowing that I was going to end up in a yelling match with him again before the night was over.

"John," I stated as calmly as I could. "Go back downstairs."

"No," he responded, unmoving.

"John, don't make me call my brother up here," I warned, massaging the bridge of my nose, as a headache had suddenly developed there.

"Aw, sheila can' deal wit' me without fallin' back on 'er big brother fer help?" John mocked. That was it; I'd lasted less than thirty seconds.

"Get your scrawny, pain-in-the-ass out of my room now!" I insisted loudly. He finally sat up, a slight peak of insanity gleaming in his eyes.

"Make me," he said, in all seriousness. And at that time, I'd had it. I walked straight over to the drunk and grabbed his foot, which was hanging off the bed. With a sharp tug, he landed on the floor with a thud. I had a half smile on my face as he looked up at me.

"If you insist," I told him, starting to drag him by the leg to my door.

"Quit bein' a bitch," he commanded, pulling his foot free of my grasp.

"Quit being an ass," I countered, pointing to the door again. "Out of my room."

"No," he stated again, narrowing his eyes.

"Yes," I persisted.

"'M not leavin' yer room, sheila, 'til I get what I want," he explained, advancing towards me. I backed away, waiting for a moment to get behind him and push him out the door. He staggered somewhat as he walked, making it easier to get around him.

I placed two hands behind his back and pushed forward towards the door. John was confused for a moment, but quick to raise his arms and push the door shut before I could push him out. I was livid and shoved him out of the way of the door so I could open it again.

John moved behind me and wrapped his arms around my waist, burying his face into my neck. I hastily tried to pry his arms of but he physically picked me up and attempted to carry me over to the bed. I finally elbowed him in the gut and forced him to drop me.

I heard what could be described as a growl in my ear before I was pushed hard against the wall. I was surprised at the force of it and had little time to brace myself, and ended up smacking the side of my forehead into the wall. I could feel him lean against me again, this time with his entire weight to try to prevent me from fighting back.

"Come on, sheila," he whispered in my ear as he wrapped his arms around me again. "Ya know ya want it."

It was those words that did it. The same words that he'd said to me the first night. I lifted my arm up above my head and brought my elbow down as hard as I could into his head. I must have gotten him at a good angle because he let go immediately and dropped to the ground.

He wasn't unconscious, but he was at least down for the moment. So I took the opportunity to leave. I walked past the boys lying passed out in the living room and headed straight out into the pouring rain. I didn't care if I caught pneumonia or whatever, I just had to get out of there before something exploded.

I turned at the end of the street and headed for the outskirts of town. By the way I had been fuming for the last few minutes, Xavier had to know I was coming.

* * *

A/N: If you don't hate me too much by now, or haven't abandoned my story yet, please leave a review and let me know what ya think.


	3. The Revenge

**Chapter Three: The Revenge**

"I wish you would call first, Ms. Maximoff," the professor sighed, letting me in the doors. I was sure I closely resembled drown rat from the walk, but I didn't care.

"Where's Le Beau?" I asked, a little more rudely than I'd intended. I was tired from the walk and frustrated with John, so my patience was suffering.

"He's in his room," the professor relented. "Up the stairs, west hallway, third door on the right."

I walked up the stairs after nodding my thanks, dripping on the expensive carpet the whole way. I counted the doors and easily found Remy's, not bothering to knock as I twisted the knob and stepped inside. I didn't know where the light switch was, so I ventured in the dark room towards the object that closely resembled the bed.

My eyes adjusted slowly and I looked around the room. The bed was empty and there were too many shadows for me to guess where he was. Not in the mood for one of his little predator-and-prey games, I crossed my arms and cleared my throat.

"Less than one day," I stated loudly. "Less than one day and he's back trying to get into my bed."

"Cherie lacks patience," was commented from behind me. The lights flickered on and I turned around. Remy stared at me for a moment, eyes on my forehead, then dropped his gaze to the floor. "Or maybe Remy was wrong dis time."

"Glad you finally see things my way," I said, my voice shaking. "And I am not going home tonight."

"Y'can stay here," he offered, gesturing towards his bed. "Remy'll find a couch."

"Thanks," I muttered, still standing in the same place and now shaking from the cold and wet. He disappeared for a moment and came back with a towel and an oversized shirt.

"Here," he offered. "Remy'll start figurin' tings out for when we can do dis."

"As soon as possible," I demanded, rubbing the towel furiously over my hair. "Tomorrow."

"Ain't that easy, cherie," he chuckled. "Remy needs some time ta take care of m'end of tings."

"How difficult is it to prepare for a one night stand?" I asked, exasperated. Remy made a gesture for me to zip it.

"Remy agreed t'do it," he warned me. "Don' go shootin' off y'mouth."

"Soon," I insisted. "It was one thing when he was just patronizing me, but if he thinks I'm going to put up with his drunken fits—"

"Relax, cherie," Remy insisted. "Get some sleep. Tings'll be betta tomorrow."

"We'll see," I muttered, waiting for him to leave so I could change my clothes and go to bed. My last thoughts of the night were wonders of how Le Beau planned on explaining this situation to Xavier without looking like a total ass.

Whatever he came up with apparently sated the man though, since the next day when Remy took me down to breakfast, nothing was said about my late night arrival or my sleeping in Remy's room. After breakfast, Dr. McCoy sighed in disdain at the bruise forming on my forehead, complaining about the violence in today's youth, and took a look at my hand again. After gaining his approval that it was being properly taken care of, I was off.

I opted to walk home, since I really didn't want to get to the disastrous sight that was going to be the house left over from the drinking binge. I was sure there'd be bodies and bottles everywhere. And I was right. But one body was still unaccounted for as I gazed at the devastation of the living room.

I walked upstairs slowly, dreading what I would find in my room when I got up there. My door was closed, which oddly enough gave me an apprehensive feeling when opening the door. Much to my surprise, it was empty. The bed had been slept in, but no one occupied the room but me.

I shrugged, taking it as a blessing and gathered some clothes, headed for the bathroom. I'd dressed in the clothes I'd arrived in at Xavier's for the travel home and the hour walk left me desiring a hot shower. It was still fairly early in the morning and I doubted any of the boys would be up before noon.

I enjoyed the hot spray longer than I usually would have and paid the price for it. I heard the door open and close as I shut off the faucet. I poked my head out of the shower curtain and cursed. John was leaning against the door.

"Mornin'," he offered. I noted with slight pleasure that John also had a bruise on his face from my elbow.

"Yes, it is," I agreed, grabbing my towel and pulling it back into the shower with me. I began drying myself off and John pulled back the curtain. I gave him a dirty look and pulled the towel around myself.

"Whatcha all shy fer?" he asked, leaning against the sink. "Not like I ain' seen it b'fore."

"Ever think that maybe I didn't want to look at you?" I hissed as I gathered my clothes, clean and dirty, and headed back to my room. John was still following me, which only persisted in grating on my nerves.

"But I wanna look at ya," John insisted, following me into my room.

"You're lucky to be alive at this point," I informed him as I dressed. "Don't push it."

"Look, I figured that since I woke up this mornin' in yer room and that ya weren' 'ere, that I musta done somethin' stupid las' night," he admitted.

"I'd say so," I began, gearing up for a rant. "Your drunken stupidity never ceases to amaze me. Do you have any idea what my brother is going to do to you when he sees my forehead?"

"None a 'is damn business 'bout me an' ya," John replied irritably. "Ta 'ell wit' 'im right now. Just tell me what I did las' night."

I looked at him in mild shock. Did he really remember that little? "Quite simply, you wanted sex. I said no and told you to leave. You refused and proceeded to-"

"Son of a bitch," he whispered, interrupting. He was staring at the cracks in the wall. At least he had the decency to be disturbed by his actions the night before.

"I take it you remember the rest," I surmised, finally finished dressing and beginning to comb my hair. "So now you see why I want you out of my sight. So, for the sanity of the both of us, leave my room. And for God's sake, don't come back."

John once again laid his gaze upon me, such an intense one that for the first time since I've known him I was taken aback. He opened his mouth as if to argue but no sound came out. I didn't look away, though I wanted to, and finally he gave in and walked out the door.

Somewhat shaken, even though I didn't really know why, I sat down on my bed and flopped backwards, rolling into a sort of cocoon of my sheets and quilt. I stayed like that for about ten seconds before I wriggled out of the mess of blankets in disgust.

"My bed smells like him."

I gathered the load of it all and wandered down the stairs to head to the laundry mat. My brother's curiosity got the better of him and he followed me there.

"Seriously, sis, how does somebody get tipsy after two shots?" he teased, sitting on one of the tables and eating an apple.

"Ever hear the expression 'don't mix drugs and alcohol'?" I retorted, waving my bandaged hand at him. "And you're not one to talk. You get drunk in less than ten minutes."

"That's because my metabolism is like a hundred times faster than anyone else's," he explained. As I loaded the washers with my bedding he fell silent.

"It was an accident," I finally told him, turning around to look at him. "I was drunk. Hexing and drinking don't mix."

"So you accidentally gave yourself the bruise or you accidentally gave John his bruise?" Pietro asked, hopping off the table and walking over to me. The height difference between us allowed him to stare directly at my forehead without looking up. I smacked his hand away as he tried to prod the bruise.

"Leave it alone," I commanded, walking over to one of the seats.

"Well, which is it?" he tried again, sitting down next to me.

"It doesn't matter 'cause it's not going to happen again," I decided, crossing my arms and leaning back.

"Yeah, just like he wouldn't try to purposefully hurt you," I heard him mumble. I looked at him. "Look, I think it's only a matter of time before that nut bag does something stupid, and I just have this feeling that somehow it's going to end up dumping on you."

"Pietro, you worry about the weirdest things," I diagnosed. We shot the shit for a few more minutes on much lighter conversation before my brother's ADHD kicked in and he took off. I changed my loads over after a while and sat bored for another hour as they dried. I didn't even bother folding them because they were going right back onto my bed when I got home. Or so I thought.

More than once I've asked myself if John had a learning disorder. This was one of those times because he was sitting on my naked bed, waiting for me.

"Move," I commanded, walking to the other side and dumping the bedding.

"Look, I 'ave somethin' ta say ta ya," he started, standing from the bed.

"Say it and go," I advised, spreading out my sheets and tucking them into the mattress.

"'M sorry I was a dumbass last night," he apologized. "An' sorry fer brusin' yer forehead."

He didn't leave like I'd told him to and I was about to point it out when I noticed that he looked like he was waiting for something. When I realized what, it took a lot of restraint to not smack him upside the head.

"If you're waiting for me to accept your apology or offer up one of my own, you're wasting your time," I told him bluntly as I finished redressing my bed. "Beat it before my brother catches you in here."

"Why do ya 'ate me so much, sheila?" he asked, still not leaving. I had no intention of answering him, only removing him from my room. It turns out I didn't have to answer him, he totally forgot the question he'd asked when Remy walked into my room.

They looked surprised to see each other but it was Remy who recovered first. "Ready to go, cherie?"

I had no idea what he was talking about but I was following him out the door anyway. John followed of course, but didn't say anything. I ignored him but it seemed to bother Remy that John was still following us. I jumped into the Jeep as Remy and John discussed something I couldn't hear. Whatever Remy said sated John and he went back into the house.

"So," I prompted as he climbed into the Jeep too. "Where are we going?"

"Remy made reservations at a favorite restaurant," he told me, rolling out of the driveway. I must have had a look of disbelief on my face. "Cherie don' wan' ta go?"

"Is this what they mean in the expression, wine, dine and sixty-nine?" I asked. Remy chuckled with me.

"Cherie has her motives, Remy has his own," he shrugged. We pulled into a tiny parking lot and walked across the street to a poorly lit dive. My eyes scanned the restaurant and then rolled in exasperation when I spotted Rouge in the corner with one of the X-boys that I didn't recognize.

"So I'm a tool to ignite jealousy?" I summarized. Remy shrugged as he slid seamlessly into a booth.

"Remy is anything less?" he retaliated.

"I'm just looking for revenge," I defended, sitting down across from him. "If he's jealous, that's just an added bonus."

"Court bouillon and Oysters Rockefeller," Remy told the waitress. She turned to me and I shook my head without a clue. Remy decided for me. "She'll have da same."

"And your hope for the Gothic poster child is what?" I asked, trying to make small talk. "She'll realize her underlying feelings for you and come over here to declare her love before it's too late and she loses you to me forever?"

Remy was chuckling all the way through my scenario. "Not quite."

"Enlighten me," I prodded. The look he returned told me he wouldn't be letting me know anytime soon.

"Do y'ever get tired of it, cherie?" he asked, ignoring the other subject all together. "Bein in dat place wit' dose idiots. Don' y'wan somethin more?"

"More than drinking binges, more than showering early in the morning as not to get molested," I summarized. He chuckled at my accurate descriptions. "Is there anything more?"

He laughed a little harder, probably at my flawless delivery.

"It's not that easy to leave," I conceded. "You know that."

"But if y'could," Remy inquired, very serious. "Would cherie leave?"

"Probably not," I admitted, then quickly added, "not without my brother."

"Dat boy is an Achilles Heel," Remy grumbled. "Cherie should cut him loose."

"Now you're starting to sound like John," I informed him, raising an eyebrow at change in demeanor. "Do you guys know something about him that I don't?"

Remy looked hesitant to answer.

"Or are you guys just against him because he's your former boss' son," I guessed. "If you think that I don't know that my brother is a despicable prick who's got sucking up down to an art, you're wrong."

"Cherie, y'don' know y'brother as well as y'tink," Remy tried, but I'd had enough of listening to this crap.

"What did you invite me here for, Le Beau?" I asked sharply as our food was set down in front of us. The waitress beat a hasty retreat at my tone.

"Da Professor wanted ta know what interest Remy had in cherie," Remy admitted. "Told him Remy wants ta convert cherie ta da X-Men."

I knew my jaw was hanging open and despite that, I couldn't close it. I was too stunned. "That's what you told John?"

"Nah," Remy dismissed with the wave of his hand. "Remy told John the trut'; cherie is helping to bait da Rouge."

I shook my head at the absurdity of it all. "If it's all a ploy, why are you really trying to convince me?"

"Non lies ta a psychic and gets away wit' it," Remy advised. "Remy is covering his tracks."

"And what about all that stuff about Pietro?" I inquired. "I'm betting you didn't have to say all that crap."

"No, Remy don'," he agreed, shifting in his seat to lean closer. "Cherie may not believe Remy, but cherie is someone Remy don' want ta see get hurt."

"I highly doubt my brother of all people would do something to hurt me," I told him, folding my arms over my chest and leaning back in the chair. "I should know, shouldn't I?"

Remy sighed, but not in defeat. More in frustration. "Remy will put it dis way: If y'were in trouble and could save y'own skin but had ta hang y'brother ta dry in exchange, would y'do it?"

"No," I answered immediately, insulted that he'd even ask that.

"Y'brother would," he stated with certainty. My jaw dropped in astonishment and anger. "H'wouldn't even hesitate."

I stood and walked away. I was out the door before Remy could lay money on the table and get up to follow. The late-summer evening was a little chilly but it did nothing to cool the anger that had boiled up inside of me. I made it half way down the block before Remy called to me and jogged in my direction.

"Wanda," he tried, and though I was amazed that he'd called me by my name instead of 'cherie,' I didn't stop to look at him.

"What makes you think you know my brother better than me," I raged. "What makes you qualified to tell me what kind of person my brother is?"

"I'm jus' tellin' da truth," he defended. "Somethin' no one else done in a long time."

"You're telling me that everyone knows him better than I do?" I summarized. "That I'm the only person who's in the dark about my brother?"

"Oui," he nodded. "Dat's exactly what Remy is telling you."

"I don't believe you," I replied instantly. "I don't believe any of this."

"Why would Remy lie?" he asked.

"I don't know," I snapped. "I don't care."

He caught my arm and pulled me to a stop. "Fine. Don' believe Remy. Other tings need ta be discussed."

I glared at him and my mind began nit-picking ways that he reminded me of John. That did not help me to listen. "Never mind. I suddenly don't want your help."

His eyes narrowed. "Remy promised ta help. Remy don' break promises."

"I'll pass," I hissed, wrenching my arm from his grip.

"Et John? What will cherie do 'bout him?" he posed, his tone evident that he thought he now had the upper hand. Oh, how I hate cockiness.

"I'll kill him," I stated bluntly. "Next time he wanders into my room in the middle of the night or tries to get into my pants, I'll kill him."

That shut him up. He stared at me in a sort of awe, probably because he realized I was serious.

"Cherie," he started, but I cut him off.

"Listen, Le Beau," I spoke lowly. "This was the 'humane' plan. I'd screw someone else so he'd figure it out. And if it didn't work, I'll kill him. That's it."

Remy stayed silent.

"Go home, Le Beau," I told him. "Forget I ever asked you."

The sound of the heels of my boots clicking against the pavement was the only sound that accompanied me back to the Brotherhood House. It had been a five mile walk, so it took over an hour to get home. I was starving, too, since I hadn't actually eaten anything at the restaurant. Lance had ordered pizza, so I actually stuck around in the kitchen for a few minutes and devoured a piece.

"Thought Remy was taking you to dinner," Lance commented.

"I suddenly lost my appetite and decided to leave," I elaborated. "Got a problem with that?"

"Nope," he answered quickly. Silence hung between us for a few minutes and curiosity got the better of me.

"I need your honest opinion on something," I began, putting down my half-eaten second slice. Lance looked frightened.

"What?" he asked, still chewing.

"If there was a situation where my brother and I were in trouble," I began, "and the only way for Pietro to survive was to leave me to die, do you think he'd do it?"

Damn my fucking curiosity. Lance had hesitated. My heart dropped in my stomach.

"No way," he answered, speaking quickly. "Your brother sticks to you like glue. He'd never leave you hanging."

"Thanks," I murmured, done eating. I trudged up the stairs and into my room. I should have never asked that question. Now every time I looked at my brother I was going to be distrustful of him. And why? Because some asshole of a Cajun put ideas in my head.

I sighed deeply and changed into comfortable clothes. I climbed into bed, intending to just fall asleep until tomorrow, but my mind was too active to let me sleep. I listened as the other Brotherhood boys arrived back home and made their usual ruckus. The sounds were familiar and were finally starting to lull me to sleep.

Softly, I heard the door knob click, and then the door open and close. The bed was weighed down on one side a few moments later, and I rolled over to come face to face with John. As sleepy as I was, I tried to give him the best look of death that I could muster. I opened my mouth to tell him to leave and was cut off by his mouth covering mine.

I hated the way he seemed to charm me with his kisses and did the only thing I could think of. I bit his tongue. He gave a yelp of protest and pulled away.

"What was that fer?" he tried to whisper-yell. I didn't care to stay quiet.

"You broke into my room, again, and tried to get into my bed while I was sleeping," I stated. "What did you think I was going to do?"

He gave a short sigh. "I don' believe y'don' wan' me."

"You're not as much of a stud as you think you are," I told him, rolling over. "Go away. I'm trying to sleep."

"That night," John began, scooting up next to me and encompassing me with his arms. "That first night, y'really did ask me ta stay with ya."

I didn't know what to say to his sudden need for a confession.

"I agreed, an' it started out like this," he continued, rubbing his lips against the back of my neck. Goosebumps began appearing all over my body at that sensation.

"And then what?" I asked quietly, hoping to get a true confession out of him.

"Nothin'," John murmured. I rolled over to face him, but he wouldn't look me in the eye.

"Nothing?" I repeated, deadpanned.

"Nothin'," he reaffirmed. He finally met my eyes with a sad half smile. "We didn' do nothin'."

I stared at him for a moment, trying to not let myself scream in outrage. "Then, how exactly did I end up naked in the morning?"

"I did that," he admitted, proudly. "I though' it'd be a good joke."

I tried very hard not to reach out and strangle him as I digested this new information. Honestly, I wanted nothing more than to kill him at that moment, so much so that the mirror across the room broke. My breaths were shaky as I forced myself to calm down enough to speak.

"Get out of my room," I fumed in a low voice. He switched his gaze from the broken mirror back to me. I couldn't look him in the eye now, because I knew if I did, I might cry. Not in sadness or emotional pain, but a vigorous and intense anger.

"'M sorry," he whispered futilely, running his fingers across my cheek. I immediately slapped his hand away.

"Get out!" I screamed, rolling out of my bed as I lost all composure.

The wall next to my bed cracked, sending spider web-like fractures up to the ceiling. John rolled off the other side of the bed, putting his hands up in front of him and walking around the bed towards me.

"Wanda, calm down," John tried, reaching out to me and taking hold of each arm. I was shaking with anger and tried to rip myself from his grip, but he just pulled me closer, resting his chin against my forehead, trying to force me to stop shaking. I violently pushed against him, but his grip was strong and he frustrated me to no end.

"Let go jackass!" I yelled. "Don't touch me!"

"Please just calm down."

"Why should I believe a word you just said?"

"Technically, I ain' lied ta ya yet," John clarified. "Now'd be a dumb time ta start."

I was about to comment on his stupidity for even coming into my room and putting me into such a mood when he was removed forcibly. I have never seen my brother in such a rage as I did then.

"I've told you more times than I care to count," he raged, "to stay away from my sister! And if you aren't going to listen to reason, I'm going to put you down so you can't come near her again."

I watched dumbly as my brother and John came to blows. Well, it was more like Pietro landed three blows in a row and then John would land one. Obviously the noise alerted the rest of the housemates and Lance was the one who stepped in before John needed to be hospitalized.

"That bastard isn't welcome in this house anymore," Pietro announced as Lance held him back.

"Yer not 'ead 'oncho in this 'ouse," John argued, wiping at the blood trickling down his chin. "I can stay 'ere if I wanna."

"Vote," Lance suggested. "Who wants John to stay?"

John raised his hand.

"Who wants him to go?" Lance asked. Pietro's, Todd's and my hand flew up.

"Who doesn't care?" he asked finally. His and Freddy's hand went up.

"Three to one," Pietro spat. "Get your shit and get out."

"Fuck ya!" John shouted. "They don' care if I stay, so it's a tie. I ain' goin' nowhere."

"Let him stay, Pietro," I calmly suggested. "The next time he comes into my room without my permission, I'll just kill him."

Silence filled the hallway.

"Fine," Pietro agreed quickly. "You've been warned, Allerdyce."

Slowly, the crowd started to disperse, with Pietro glaring at John the whole time. He stood in his doorway, waiting for John to leave, since he had yet to move. I could tell that John didn't believe what I'd just said, especially when he took a step towards my door.

"I wasn't joking," I warned him. Pietro was practically dancing in his doorway, waiting for the signal to take on John again or watch the fireworks, whichever came first. As John took another step towards my room, my hand that rested flat against the door glowed blue and Pietro smiled wickedly at the 'fireworks.'

John groaned brokenly as he clutched his middle suddenly. I slowly curled my fingers into a fist and John dropped to his knees. A muted crack was heard and I released my grip. John cried out in pain.

"I warned you," I chuckled, slamming my door shut. I heard Pietro do the same with his and not long after, I could hear his cheetah-paced laugh.

Needless to say, John didn't try getting back into my room that night.

In fact, I saw nothing of him during the next day. It was refreshing. Not to mention that the other boys were staying out of my radar. Except Le Beau. He showed up mid-morning and asked me to accompany him for a walk.

"A walk?" I repeated, deadpanned. He nodded and I was half tempted to tell him to screw off. I was still sore about last night. But in the end I went with him, wondering just what else he could have to say to me.

"Remy apologizes," he said once we'd gotten a few blocks from the Brotherhood House. "Cherie's relationship wit' her brother is none of Remy's business."

"The damage is done," I told him. "And I'm not going to forgive you. So what do you want?"

"Johnnie has t'ree bruised an' one broken rib," Remy informed me. "Da professor wishes me ta express his wishes dat ya'll don' try ta kill each otha anymo'."

I snorted. "I warned him. And you for that matter."

Le Beau sighed deeply and I could see worry lines on his face. We had reached a park and I could see people playing basketball in one of the courts across the large expanse of playground. I rolled my eyes when I saw the shape of a young redheaded girl with white streaks sitting there watching.

"Remy is still willin'," he finally said, leaning against a tree. "Much rather do it den see Johnnie six feet unda'."

"Fine," I relented. "But no more shit-talking my brother."

Le Beau shrugged in agreement.

"So how's this working out for you?" I asked, nodding my head in the direction of the basketball courts. "Got her interest peaked yet?"

Le Beau leaned forward suddenly and kissed me. His hand caught the back of my head as I almost stumbled backwards, steadying me. When he broke away, he smiled a half grin.

"Indubitably," he answered. I looked out of the corner of my eye to see the girl, who could only be Rogue, walking quickly away from the courts. "Better den I'd'a hoped."

I shrugged and started heading back to the Brotherhood House.

"Let me know when you're ready to do this," I called over my shoulder.

"Tonight," Remy answered. I stopped and turned to regard his seriousness.

"Tonight?" I repeated.

"Pick cherie up at eight," he told me. I raised an eyebrow and returned to my walk home.

"Eight o'clock," I agreed. I had some few plans of my own to sort out between now and then. The first was to invest the boys into a drinking game. I didn't need any of _them_ to come interrupt us. I figured Remy would get John out of the mansion in time for the coitus interruptus.

It's annoying to clean up after the boys, but the first thing any of them did once the old bottles of alcohol was cleared was to go out and get some more. And the earlier they did it, the earlier they got drunk. I had most of the bottles cleared away when my brother descended the stairs.

"Look out, she's cleaning," he kidded, eyeing the bags of garbage I'd left by the door. "No wonder the other guys are hiding upstairs."

"The smell was killing me," I told him. It was at least partially true; the place did get to smelling like a dump after awhile.

"Speaking of killing," Pietro alluded.

"Subtle, very subtle," I joked.

"I try," he shrugged. "So what did you actually do to John last night? I think he coughed up some blood on the carpet."

"I was crushing his ribs," I answered. "He's lucky that I have as much control as I do, or he may have ended up with more than one broken rib."

"He deserved it," Pietro decided. A short, awkward pause that must have felt like a lifetime for Pietro passed between us. "Lance said you asked him a weird question yesterday."

Oh, yeah. That.

"I knew the answer before I asked the question," I told him. "I just wanted to hear someone else say it."

"Yeah, but who prompted you to ask it?" he asked, folding his arms across his chest.

"I had a bad dream," I lied. I'd had dreams before where I had woken up screaming. They were always of being locked in a blacked out room and watching white-haired people walk away. Pietro paled whenever I told him about them. "I wanted reassurance."

Pietro looked ill. A sinking feeling crept within me at his demeanor. Why did he look like I hit the nail right on the head?

"Anyway, I'm going out again tonight with Le Beau," I told him, just to change the mood in the room. It was stifling. "He's trying to make that X-girl jealous or something."

Pietro laughed, but it still didn't sound like him. "Good luck with that."

"That's what I told him," I said. "Hopeless, though, I think."

Pietro took the garbage out for me and I went upstairs to catch a shower. I spent most of my afternoon in my room diddling around with nothing to do. I wasn't anxious, more anticipating the night to come. Tonight, my problems with John would be solved. Finally.

By six, I could hear the new bottles of alcohol clinking on table in the living room downstairs. I smiled to myself at the boys' predictability. At seven, I decided I should get ready to go out, seeing as I had no idea where Le Beau was taking me after he picked me up.

It was close to eight when the door creaked open behind me.

"Where ya goin'?" John asked, leaning against my door frame as I finished dressing. How he managed to get into my room without my brother knowing was beyond me.

"Out," was my answer. Honestly, that's all he needed to know.

"Need some comp'ny?" he asked, walking over and standing right behind me. I resisted the urge to smile at the sight of bandages beneath his shirt, lest he take it as a positive answer to his question.

"No," I answered, running a brush through my hair.

"Come on," he beckoned. "Ya've left me lonely fer too long. I miss ya."

"Well," I started, pushing him out of the way, ignoring his winces of pain and walking down the stairs, "maybe you should talk to your right hand, because I don't miss you."

He followed, as I expected. He hated it when I left the conversation with the upper hand.

"Well, maybe if I follow ya 'round long 'nough, my right 'and won' 'ave ta be bothered," he countered. I turned on him with a look of death. "Or I could just go upstairs an' find my bottle a 'and lotion."

"That sounds like a good idea," I growled, watching him retreat lamely up the stairs. "Because you're not getting any from me anymore, remember? I should have never agreed to this in the first place 'cause now you're starting to think of me as some two-bit whore."

"Look, sheila," he lamely tried to apologize. "'M sorry. I didn' mean fer it ta come out that way."

"Hind sight is twenty-twenty," I said as I walked out the front door. It was eight o'clock and my ride was waiting for me in the driveway. John followed me out the door, but not down the steps.

"Where's Le Beau taking ya?" John inquired, sounding perplexed.

"It wasn't any of your business before," I stated, not stopping. "It still isn't."

I climbed into the passenger seat of Remy's jeep, nodding to him that we could leave. John remained standing on the porch, with his own look of death aimed at the jeep. As soon as we got out of sight of the house, I started chuckling. Remy gave me a sideways glance.

"Care t'let Remy in on de joke?" he asked, heading for downtown.

"It's so obvious to everyone but him," I informed him. "The first inkling that I'm doing something that doesn't involve him and he's jealous. This is going to be perfect."

"Remy feel sorry fo' de guy," he admitted.

"Why is that?" I inquired, curious.

"'Cause now y'jus' messin' wit 'im. On purpose," he answered. "Es cruel."

"If it were just about sex, it wouldn't matter," I reasoned. "He should either admit that it's not about the sex and that it never was, or deal with it."

"An' den what?" Remy asked. "Y'still gon' end it, no? Thas harsh, chere."

"You don't seem to understand," I argued, "that I don't want a relationship; sexual or otherwise."

"Why not?"

I sat quietly for a while. In this case, there wasn't much for a reason other than the fact that John annoyed the piss out of me. That and the revenge. I hadn't gotten any farther than that in my train of thought when Remy spoke again.

"Y'haven' even thought 'bout it befo'," he concluded. I glared at him.

"Have you ever considered why that no-touchy goth girl doesn't want to date you?"

The jeep squealed to a stop.

"Dat was uncalled fo'," he told me in a low voice. I don't think that I've ever seen him so mad. But I wasn't about to apologize.

"Then let's change the subject."

The jeep didn't move. He even went so far as to shut off the engine, still in the middle of the street.

"Fine," I sighed. Speaking without thinking had never been my strong suit, but I went for it. "I don't want a relationship because they don't last no matter what you do. They depend on too much compromise and I refuse to change for someone else and don't expect anyone to do it for me. And trust. I just can't do it. I can't trust anyone. I don't know why, but I can't. And I don't consider sex to be a part of relationships because, as we're going to prove, you don't need to be in a relationship to have sex."

As I processed what I had just said, I winced at how pathetic of an argument it was. I expected Remy to point it out, but instead he started the jeep again and resumed driving.

"Remy has considered why da petite is so reluctan'," he said after a while. "Da only ting Remy can come up wit is dat petite is afraid. Afraid of gettin' too close ta someone an' hurtin' dem."

"Sounds rational."

"But y'argumen' is just as weak as da Rouge's, cherie," he pointed out. I decided to just cross my arms and ignore him for a while.

I never expected Remy to completely understand what was motivating me to do this. I wanted John to stop harassing me. I wanted to be able to sleep at night without wondering if he was going to 'drop by' and half molest me in my sleep. Those were the sane and rational explanations for what I was doing. Remy understood those.

What he didn't understand was my urge to enact revenge on John. I had rationalized it as being the only way to spell it out to the psychotic pyromaniac, but I would be lying if I didn't say that I was going to enjoy it a little. Not to mention, the whole 'waking up naked in bed' joke. The problem lied within the fact that Remy could see through my weak rationalization.

We drove around aimlessly with little conversation until full evening had set on and I was sure the boys would be heavy into another drinking binge. How any of them still had their liver was somewhat amazing to me. We got back to the brotherhood house a little after nine and parked in the driveway behind Lance's jeep.

Remy and I walked in the front door and up the stairs without a word to anyone else. No one seemed to pay much mind to us. Except John. He was always watching me. I unlocked my door and led Remy in, closing the door behind him but not locking it. That would have defeated the purpose.

"Ready, cherie?" Remy asked, pulling off his long trench coat.

"I guess," I answered, stripping away my own coat and setting to work on my boots.

"Y'sure he'll come?" Remy inquired, pulling his shirt over his head.

"I'm sure," I reassured him. With my boots off I began to unbutton my own shirt, not really used to having to undress myself before sex. John usually did it for me. It was silly and I knew it, but I guess it was one of the things that had helped get me in the mood.

Remy was already nude and waiting for me to get the lead out, half sitting on the bed. It occurred to me that I was nervous as I pulled off my pants. I could tell I was blushing when I stood before him naked. I wasn't sure what to do next.

Well, actually, I knew exactly what came next, but not how was it going to be. John usually made those decisions because he was the aggressive one when it came to sex. I slowly walked over to Remy, butterflies wreaking havoc in my stomach. As soon as I was in reach, Remy pulled me down into his lap and kissed me.

It wasn't a bad kiss, but it lacked the intensity that John's had. Probably because it truly was casual sex that I was going to have. It was almost disappointing, but I really couldn't figure out why I cared. And I didn't care anymore when Remy put his hand in between my legs and began fingering me.

John was never big on foreplay, so the sudden shock of Remy doing it unnerved me even more. It felt good, I will definitely admit that. The kissing and the fingering were doing its job of getting me aroused. Apparently satisfied with himself, Remy stopped fingering me and stood me up again. It seemed a position change was in order.

He had me lay on my back on the bed as he climbed on top, rolling on a condom. Another thing John had never done, I realized, but my nervousness ebbed away a little; I was more accustomed to this position. He pulled one of my legs up a bit and slid in. I could tell that it was going to be different from anything else I'd experienced.

It started out at a slow rhythm. It was almost like slow agony. I knew this was Remy's show, but I wanted to tell him to go faster. As his leisurely pace continued, he ran his hands along my body. I know that John did the same thing, but I guess I noticed more because he wasn't kissing me. Half the time Remy didn't even look at me.

It wasn't that it was bad or anything like that; it just wasn't the same. I guess I enjoyed myself and Remy probably did too. It wasn't long before the show was over and Remy was scrounging around for his clothes. I sat on my bed and stared at the door, wondering. As far as I knew, John hadn't seen us. I looked at Remy and was about to question it but he shook his head at me.

"Trus' Remy, es done," he told me. He placed one last chaste kiss on my lips before walking out the door. A few minutes later I could hear his jeep starting, and then him pulling out of the drive way. I sighed and rubbed my face.

"I need a shower," I told myself. I gathered my sheet around me and walked to the bathroom. I could hear the boys still drinking away downstairs and knew I'd be safe as long as the Toad didn't catch wind of me in the shower.

I turned the water on and dropped the sheet, stepping into the hot spray. I let it soak my body, which was still left feeling the after effects of Remy. I leaned against the shower wall as the water ran over me, slightly exhausted.

I must have been more exhausted than I realized because the next thing I heard was the shower curtain opening behind me. I turned around and what to my wondering eyes should appear but a nude John. And he didn't look happy.

"What?" I prompted.

"Nothin'," he said, leaning forward. He kissed me hard on the lips and pushed me back against the wall. "I just want ta fuck ya, that's all."

"Charming, but no," I retaliated, about to tell him to get lost. I never got the chance. He lifted my body slightly and slammed me back against the wall again, moving between my legs and pinning me off the ground with his weight.

I barely had recovered from being slammed into the wall before he began to thrust into me. I cried out in surprise and grabbed hold of his shoulders to brace myself, trying to keep my head from smacking backwards into the wall repeatedly. It was so quick and forceful that had my back not been aching every time he thrust me back against the wall, I could have sworn I was dreaming it all.

"So ya just want 'ard, meanin'less sex, huh?" he whispered in my ear, thrusting faster.

"Isn't that what this was supposed to be in the beginning?" I retorted, feeling my body reaching its peak, despite my mental protests. I didn't want John thinking that I liked it like this.

His whole body stiffened with his release, and for a moment he continued to hold me in place, then slowly lowered me until my feet touched the shower floor. He then let go and retreated from both the shower and the bathroom, stealing my bath towel in his wake. I stood under the running water for a few minutes longer until the hot water gave out, then forced myself to exit the shower. With no towel anymore, I pulled my sheet around my wet body again and ventured back to my room, falling on my bed and forced myself to not think about John and what had just taken place in the shower.


	4. The Aftermath

**A/N:** Be amazed. It only took a month. Nah, just kidding. But I hope you like it.

* * *

**Chapter Four: The Aftermath**

I hadn't seen John in over two weeks. No one had. It was like he had up and left town. I didn't really care, but then again I did. There had been no big confrontation between us like I had been expecting, beyond what had happened in the shower. It left me with a feeling of being gypped.

I hadn't talked to Remy since that day either. That didn't really bother me all that much. I knew he probably felt somewhat bad about his participation and would probably direct any lingering frustrations or guilt at me. But again, I didn't care. I had gotten what I wanted, right?

John was off my back and life was back to semi-normal at the Brotherhood House. Everyone seemed to take Pyro's departure in a neutral way. No one mentioned him or his abrupt departure. At least, not in front of me.

So a sense of normalcy settled onto the house. The Toad had even started his futile courting of me again. It was annoying, but compared to the ordeal I'd just been through, I could stand it. Lance continued his efforts to win Kitty back from her current boyfriend, Fred complained about being hungry, and Pietro plotted stupid attempts to bait and attack the X-Men.

Like I said, everything had returned to normal. And it lasted for about two weeks.

My father, always the surprise element, chose that time to return to us. He declared that he had discovered new and horrible information about the government abusing mutants, and it was up to us to liberate our country of such a government. How typical.

"I can stand the government's futile attempts to 'suppress' the mutant population with sentinels," my father admitted. "Those ridiculous metal beings are as absurd as the government that created them. But I _will not_ tolerate the deliberate seizure and containment of mutants for no reason other than to use them for lab rats."

I could tell where this was going. It always looked like he was trying to do something chivalrous on the surface, but it never stayed that way.

"We will attack these holding facilities—"

"There's more than one?" Lance interrupted, earning a sharp glare.

"As I was saying, we will attack these holding facilities simultaneously," my father explained. "There are three in this country. The first is in Arizona, the second is in Georgia, and the third is in Washington D.C."

"I would like to opt out of the one in D.C.," my brother whispered to me. I agreed. Sure, it was easy enough to launch a surprise attack a facility, but getting out of there was the hard part. And somehow I knew that our nation's capitol was going to be _crawling_ with soldiers sporting guns.

"We will break into teams," my father continued. "I will lead the team into Washington D.C. Sabertooth will be leading his team into the base in Langley, Georgia. Lastly, Quicksilver will lead a team to the outskirts of Phoenix, Arizona."

My brother grinned like an idiot at that announcement. Now his ego would be impossible to deal with.

"Toad, Blob, you're with Sabertooth," my father announced. The look on Toad's face was one of someone who had just been told he was walking kitty-bits. "Avalanche and Pyro will accompany Quicksilver."

"Um," my brother interjected meekly, half cringing at the look of dismay he got. "Pyro hasn't been around for awhile. We don't know where he is."

"I see," my father grunted. "Another deserter. We'll deal with that later. I suppose I will have to move Mastermind to your team."

"Come on," Pietro whined. "It's not like we really need either of them. Lance and I can handle things ourselves."

"Like you do with the X-Men?" my father retorted.

Ding! Round one goes to Magneto.

"Wanda and I will be sufficient to handle the capitol," my father decided. "Today is the fifth. We will disembark on the seventh. Since _most_ of you are known as mutant agitators, you will not be flying. Driving time is accounted for and the attack will not occur until tenth."

The silence in the room was ominous. I was really bored and knew this was eventually going to go horribly wrong. We adjourned for the night and I started setting the table for dinner. Pietro was still smug about being made a team head and decided to order out from the most expensive Chinese food joint in town.

When food began to arrive by the armload, I had to question Pietro again about where he got the money. A sly grin accompanied the lightning fast movement of a platinum credit card flashing before my eyes before it disappeared again just as quickly.

"You stole one of father's credit cards?" I whispered in disbelief.

"Stole is such a strong word," he mocked. "Of course I didn't. He gave it to me. For emergencies."

"Yeah? And what's he gonna say about the emergency three hundred dollar Chinese takeout bill at the end of the month?" I posed. Pietro looked undeterred and swept his arm at the other three housemates.

"Take your pick," he offered. I raised an eyebrow in confusion. "It could have been any one of them that stole it off of me. Which one is most likely?"

I shook my head, albeit in slight amusement, and went to get some dinner. I managed to grab my own little box of rice and a few eggrolls before they vanished, and waited for the rest of them to get their first course. I didn't want to lose a hand in the feeding frenzy.

I was pleasantly full from fried rice and lounging on the couch in a fairly decent mood when fate intervened again. In case I'm not clear on this, fate doesn't like me. St. John Allerdyce chose that moment to come strolling back in the house.

"Do I smell Chinese food?" he asked two steps into the door, as if he hadn't been gone for two weeks.

"Where the hell have _you_ been?" Pietro asked immediately. "Magneto was looking for you today."

"I know, I saw 'im," John shrugged. "We're good. Did ya order any schezwan shrimp?"

My brother came over and sat down next to me, glaring at the copper-haired intruder. "I think we have a most likely candidate."

I snorted at the joke that only I got. "We should go out and buy a hundred lighters on the card to make it more plausible."

Pietro laughed at my attempt at deviousness. "Not a half bad idea."

Watching the house idiots scarf their food, I felt a little bummed about not having Pietro on my team. In fact, he'd be half a country away when the attack took place. It made me uneasy. I don't know why, but the feeling of being on my own with our father just made me feel ill.

Luckily for me, there were very few dishes to do since most everything was eaten out of the box it came in with chopsticks. Mostly all I had to do was clear the trash, which wasn't that bad. It was close to midnight when I went upstairs to go to bed, stopping in the bathroom first to change the bandage on my hand.

My palm was a ring of scabs and pink skin. It was gross. Especially after I put the medicated stuff the blue guy gave me on it. It looked like a festering wound. I rebandaged my hand and called it a night, climbing into my bed and burying myself with pillows and blankets.

I had _that_ dream.

It starts out with me sitting on the ground of a grassy field. I'm watching the grass sway in sync with the wind. A strong gust blows and I look behind me. There is a dark cloud coming, looking menacing and promising of rain. I stand, determined to go find shelter. I can see in the distance two light haired figures under the cover of some trees. I can't see them clearly, but I instinctively know I can trust them, and I begin running to them.

The more I run, the farther I get from my goal. It's as if I am running too slow on a walkway that is going in the opposite direction. I hear thunder in the distance and it scares me. I try calling out to them, but to my ears, my voice sounds muffled, as though I am speaking through water.

I stop running and begin to cry, afraid of the rain that is now pelting down on me. Dark shadows of hands and arms are encompassing me and I panic, screaming as I push them away with the inner power that I now realize is my mutant power. Everything is blown back and I am left in the dark.

I usually wake up now.

So why am I still surrounded by darkness? I look around me again, searching for any sign of light. There is only nothing. I walk forward with my hands out in front of me, ready to brace myself because I can't see where I'm going. My hands reach a wall I think, and I begin sliding my fingers across it, feeling for anything familiar. I step to the side as I feel, and come to a wall intersection. I can still feel no change in surface beneath my hands.

There are two more walls as I continue blindly feeling my way through the dark area. Nausea sweeps through me as I realize that I am boxed in by these walls. I look up in desperation, and spot a small window above me. It is too high for me to reach, but my eyes have adjusted enough that I can see the finer details of the room I am in by the faint light that is shining through it.

There are things in the room that weren't there before. I can see a door that dwarfs me in its size. There is also a bed beneath the window that seems too big for my stature. I climb up onto it though, hoping to use it to reach the window so far above me.

When I climb onto the bed, I realize it is not the bed that is out of proportion, it is me. I am small. Childlike. Everything about me is different. My hair is longer. The black and red ensemble of clothing I am usually in has been replaced by a hideous, beige hospital gown.

I want out of this room.

I reach above me to the window and find that I am at least a foot too short. I jump, grazing the edge of the window with my fingertips. I try again and manage to get my fingers purchase on the edge of the window sill. I strain to pull myself up, fighting against gravity and my own body weight.

I am disappointed at the sight when I manage to pull my chin over the edge of the sill. The window has bars on it. I sob with a broken cry of dismay, feeling desolation fill me. There are hands on my legs and sides, pulling me down from the window. I fight as much as I can, kicking and pulling myself away. The hands are too strong and pull me back down to the bed.

Featureless, black silhouettes are holding down my arms and legs. One silhouette wears a white lab coat, and I scream in fear as it comes towards me. Fear races through me with such an intensity that it becomes painful.

"Wanda! Wake up!"

I blinked my eyes open and uncrossed my eyes to see Pietro sitting on the side of my bed, one hand on my shoulder shaking me awake.

"Hey," I greeted with a slur, wiping my eyes. They were wet with tears. My nose was stuffed too, adding to the knowledge that I'd been crying in my sleep again.

"Hey, yourself," my brother answered back, sighing in relief. "You had a nightmare, didn't you?"

"Mmhmm," I nodded, stretching out my overly tense muscles. "Was I screaming again?"

"And hexing," he added. "I think you knocked the power out of the entire block."

I sat up, looking at my room in the darkness. The resemblance to my dream was so unnerving that I shivered.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Pietro asked, sounding like he hoped I didn't.

"I'd much rather stop having these nightmares altogether," I answered. Pietro threw a comforting arm around my shoulders and kissed the side of my head. Why was he being so touchy-feely all of a sudden?

"When we get back from this mission," he began, "I want to talk to you about something."

That sounded ominous.

"I'm not going to like it, am I?" I predicted.

"Probably not," he winced. "But it can't really wait any longer. It needs to be done. Probably needed to be done a while ago, but you know how selfish I can be."

"'Kay," I answered slowly. "Should I start packing my stuff now?"

It was meant to be a joke, but the flicker in his features wasn't a good sign.

"I don't want to go on the mission with Father," I blurted out suddenly. Pietro gave me a wary look. "I don't like the idea of going with him alone. I don't know why, but I don't. I'd rather go with you and Lance."

Pietro squeezed my shoulders reassuringly. "Me too. I'll talk to him, but I don't think he's going to change his mind."

He got up from my bed and headed to the door, wishing me goodnight. Panic flourished through me for a second when I saw his hand on the doorknob.

"Don't close the door!" I begged quickly. Slowly, his hand retracted from the doorknob. I knew he was worrying about me because he never did anything slowly.

"Alright. I'll keep mine open too, in case the fire-head comes calling," he promised. I listened in the creeping darkness as he got into his own bed. I felt ridiculous as I silently wished for a lamp to turn on against the darkness. I hadn't been afraid of the dark since I was a child.

I didn't sleep for the rest of the night. I tossed and turned, growing irritated at my inability to shut my brain off. It was just before dawn when I gave up sleeping and climbed out of my bed. I walked downstairs and grabbed my coat out of the closet and put it on over my pajamas.

I walked out onto the porch and sat down on the broken swing. It was chilly out, hence the coat, but the cold air filling my lungs banished away the last of my nightmare, and I started to feel sleepy. No rest for the wicked, though.

"Cherie, what are you doing outside?"

I peeled my eyes open in disdain to look at Remy. The sun was over the treetops now, so I must have gotten at least a little sleep.

"Getting a tan," I told him dryly. "What are you doing here?"

"Looking for Johnnie," he answered. "Cherie seen him?"

"In his room, I'm assuming," I yawned. "I don't care to keep tabs on him."

Remy nodded slightly, looking at the ground with a half smile. He walked up the steps and let himself in, and I let my eyes close against the bright sun that was burning colors into my retinas. A crash from inside the house startled my eyes open, and I rolled my eyes at being sleep deprived again.

"Morons," I deduced, exiting the swing. I figured I should get dressed for the day if nothing else. Sitting on the porch in my pajamas and a coat was tempting, but probably not a good idea. I threw my coat in the direction of the closet, too lazy to hang it up again. When I walked past the kitchen, I saw Pietro pacing back and forth as he talked on a cell phone.

"I'm serious, I do…No, I can handle it, but she told me herself that she wanted to be on the same team as me…Just put Mastermind back on your team and move her to mine…No, sir. I'm not trying to tell you how to run your mission…No, sir…Yes, sir."

Pietro ended the call and slapped the phone shut in frustration. He turned and saw me sitting on the stairs, watching him. The expression he wore told me he hadn't been successful in his quest.

"He won't move you to my team," he told me, coming to sit next to me. "Did you get any sleep at all last night? Those rings around your eyes are kinda scary."

I elbowed him lightly. "Funny."

There was another crash from upstairs.

"Morons," Pietro declared, and I giggled at how close our thoughts ran sometimes. "Go upstairs and get some sleep. I'll keep the idiots quiet."

I fully intended to obey, since I was starting to feel exhaustion seep into my muscles. I made it as far as the top of the stairs before I was almost trampled by John.

"Quit standin' in the walkway," he spat, in a hurry to get down the stairs. "Fuckin' bitch."

That used up the miniscule ounce of patience I had for the entire day. I reached out with a hand and fisted it, using my power to grasp John around the ribs again. Air rushed from his lungs in a wheeze and I contemplated ending him then and there.

"Stop, cherie!" Remy begged, grabbing me by the arms in attempt to catch my attention. Oh, he did alright. He dropped to his knees as well, feeling the air leave his lungs involuntarily.

It would be so easy to just kill them. A little flick of the wrist and bam! No more annoying little boys. No one grasping at me in the middle of the night. No one trying to hold me back and hold me down. No one to hurt me like that ever again!

I realized that neither one of them had hurt me. Pissed me off, yeah, but hurt me, no. And I was killing them.

I immediately let go. Remy crumpled forward into the carpet and John hit the stairs awkwardly, sliding down a few of them. For some reason, I felt like I was losing control of myself, and I ran down the stairs. I was out the door before Pietro could ask what the matter was, but he wasn't letting me run away by myself.

"Sis, tell me what's wrong," he pleaded as he easily kept pace with me. I ran until there was nothing around me but trees and grass and rocks.

"I don't know," I whined, dropping forward and resting my hands on my knees as I struggled to catch my breath. "I feel dangerous. Like I'm not in control."

Pietro had what I liked to call 'tells.' Ways to tell if he was worried, if he was afraid, if I was right. The 'tell' he was giving off right now said all three. Not a good sign.

"What happened?" he implored. I tried to explain what I had felt in the upstairs hallway as I had almost killed John and Remy, but I didn't feel like I was describing it right.

"I wanted to hurt them," I tried, feeling my entire body shaking. "I wanted them to feel pain because they had caused me pain, but they _didn't_ cause me pain. I just wanted them to suffer."

"It's okay," he attempted to tell me, though the guilt on his face made it less plausible. "It was an accident. I really don't care about the Aussie but Remy'll understand if we talk to him."

I was shaking my head desperately. "No, I can't go back there. I don't want to go back there."

A cold wind blew and I realized I was crying because the trails of the tears were stung by it.

"Well, we can't stay here," Pietro argued weakly. "You really want to stand in the middle of a forest preserve in your pajamas?"

Some of the fear of losing control began to ebb away at his point.

"I'm afraid of myself," I admitted.

"That's okay," he responded immediately. "Then we'll just hang out here then until it's okay."

To prove his point, my usually immaculate brother sat down in the muddy grass. Tension and fear was draining from me and I collapsed into the ground next to him, still panting.

"I don't want to go to D.C.," I mumbled. My brother looked at me as though he was making a difficult decision.

"I don't want you to, either," he agreed quietly. "But our father won't listen to me."

I sniffled some lingering snot that I hadn't wiped on my sleeve away.

"I could take you somewhere," he began, pausing to judge my reaction. It had only been half a sentence, but I was pretty sure I knew how the rest of it ended.

"But you'd still have to go on the mission," I guessed. He nodded grimly. I shook my head. "Let's go back to the house."

He seemed surprised at my change in attitude.

"Maybe things will get better if I do get some sleep," I reasoned, but it sounded lame even to me. He relented, though, and let me lead the way back. I didn't realize how cold I was when I reentered the house. Thankfully, neither John nor Remy was there. I tried retiring to my bed for the third time in twenty four hours, and blissfully succeeded.

My room is dark anyway, since I have black curtains, but it was _very_ dark in my room when I woke up. I looked to the window and saw that it appeared to be twilight out. If the guys had made any sound during the day, I hadn't heard it. I did feel better now that I had gotten some sleep, but I still didn't want to go to D.C.

"Back to the land of the living," my brother kidded as I descended the steps. He had his feet up on the kitchen table while Lance made dinner. Looked like hamburger and noodles again. Sometimes I wished Lance would take the easy way out and order in.

I sat down next to him and leaned my head against the table.

"Or not," he snorted. I shot him a lazy finger. He leaned over and whispered conspiratorially to me. "I'm ordering pizza later."

I really love my brother sometimes.

"Ya alright, cherie?"

I sat up and looked wide-eyed at Remy, who was sauntering in the kitchen.

"Huh?" was my oh-so-intelligent response.

"Y'looked a 'lil ill this mornin'," he clarified. "After you tried to kill me."

I felt dizzy.

"Lay off, asshole," Pietro spat. "I told you it was an accident."

"Wasn't talkin' t'you," Remy answered. "Remy's fine, by th'way."

My head was swimming. It wasn't like I'd forgotten about that, but all of a sudden, it seemed to hit me full force again what I'd almost done. Fearing falling out of the chair I was sitting in, I put my head back down on the table and took deep breaths.

"Johnnie's not too bad either," Remy went on. "Still pissed at Remy, but not 'nough t'refuse medical treatment."

"That son of a bitch deserved it," Pietro interrupted again. "You did too for being stupid enough to get in her way. So take your damn pity party elsewhere."

The dizziness was too much. I started dry heaving on the kitchen floor.

"Gross!" Lance yelled, picking the pan up off the stove and walking into the other room with it.

"Fuckin' look what you did, Le Beau," Pietro cursed. "You get off on kicking someone when they're down or something?"

As I had worried that I would, I fell out of the chair and onto the floor. Somehow, I managed to miss the small pool of saliva that I'd been heaving up. The cruddy linoleum somehow felt good to me, as though being on the floor made it impossible for the room to spin anymore.

"Jesus, your skin is hot," Pietro muttered as he picked me up off the floor. The dizziness returned momentarily as he breezed me up the stairs to the bathroom. The urge to vomit was back, so I clutched to the toilet seat as my brother disappeared again. Seconds passed before he was by my side again. He pressed a cool rag against my forehead and I shivered in response.

"Damn it," he cursed under his breath. "I'll be back in a minute. I'm going to the store."

Going to the store for Pietro meant stealing. He was too quick for the security cameras to catch on tape. I was alone for only a few seconds, though.

"Y'look like hell," Remy told me as he entered the bathroom.

"Feel like it," I managed to say between heaves. The sound of me dry heaving was all that was heard for a moment.

"Sorry," I muttered quickly before heaving again. "Didn't want to kill you."

"Y'fooled Remy," he responded, but there was no longer sarcasm in his tone. "That's why y'ran away, no?"

The nausea was starting to quell.

"I was afraid I'd do it again," I admitted. "And not be able to stop."

Remy helped me sit up straighter against the wall next to the toilet.

"Remy's fault Johnnie irked cherie's temper," he conceded. "Wanted t'make tings right wit' him. Too soon, I s'pose."

"Sorry," I murmured again, knowing it was at least half my fault. I wouldn't take all of the blame, though. Remy was the one who said yes.

"Beat it, Le Beau," Pietro commanded as he returned with a thermometer and some ginger ale. It was an expensive thermometer because all he had to do was point it at my forehead. "Shit."

"Where y'gonna take cherie?" Remy asked knowingly.

"That Australian son of a bitch better not be there," Pietro warned as he lifted me from the floor. I groaned in anticipation because as soon as we stopped, I'd probably puke again. Not that there was anything in me to puke. I did have to admit, though, that the cool air felt good for three seconds.

I knew he was trying not to jostle me. That much was evident by the way he sped up and slowed down. When we reached the mansion doors, he was barely jogging.

"Pietro," the professor greeted.

"Her fever's a hundred and four," he quickly spit out, though the psychic probably knew it before Pietro'd gotten through the door with me.

I was soon lying on a gurney. A bucket was quickly handed to me and moments later, I began vomiting again. Oh, I was going to be sore when this was over. I felt a sharp pinch in my arm and looked to see an IV being taped to the pit of my elbow.

"It's just saline," the professor told me, probably sensing my anxiety. I hated needles. "You'll become dehydrated too quickly if we don't give you something."

If he'd promised me it'd make me stop puking, I would have let him give me dirt.

"We were out this morning, for like, twenty minutes and she didn't have a coat on but I didn't think it would be this bad because we left for home almost right after and then she went to bed and I guess she looked a little pale when she got up but I thought it was just because she'd just woken up."

How anyone followed my brother's train of thought when he was rambling was beyond me.

"And this time outside," the professor asked quietly, probably not intending for me to hear, "did it occur before or after she broke Remy and John's ribs?"

The atmosphere in the room changed palpably. I vomited harder at the news of breaking their ribs and Pietro suddenly radiated anger.

"It was an accident," he hissed, enunciating each word definitively.

"A very serious accident," the professor amended.

I had to be coming close to the end. I no longer puked up clear liquid, but a yellow, milky substance.

"I didn't eat anything yellow," I murmured pitifully. Dr McCoy regarded me with a half smile.

"That is the bile of your stomach," he told me. "You won't be vomiting much longer."

Oh thank god.

"Le Beau knows better than to get in between my sister and a victim," Pietro whispered. "And if she killed John, no one in my house would blame her."

I watched as the professor raised one furry eyebrow. I'm sure I would have found the realization that it was the only hair on his head hilarious if I wasn't _still_ vomiting.

"Now it's green," I complained. Dr McCoy looked fleetingly in the bucket.

"It will stop soon," he promised.

I missed whatever the professor said to Pietro.

"My sister _is_ in control," he hissed. Whatever it had been, Pietro hadn't taken it well. "You want to talk about control? How 'bout that out of control idiot Australian that can't keep himself from trying to get into my sister's bed?"

Great. That was going to go downhill fast.

"Pietro," I called weakly. I didn't really need anything, but I wanted him to stop talking to the professor about my sex life. He walked over to me and I grabbed his hand possessively, feeling like maybe, just maybe I was done puking.

"I'll tell our father you're sick," he vowed. "Stay here, okay? I'll be back in a few days."

Damn it. I'd forgotten that he had to leave for that stupid mission tonight. He kissed my sweaty forehead and whispered goodbye, leaving in a blink.

"You can lie down now if you want to," Dr McCoy told me. I did, for the simple fact that I was exhausted. I felt like now that I was done puking that I had done a marathon.

"Karma's a bitch, ain't it?"

I was too exhausted to open my eyes and glare.

"John, if you are well enough to taunt Ms Maximoff, you are likely well enough to go home," the professor told him.

"You think this is bad?" John continued. "Wait until D.C. Then you'll know how bad it really is."

"John, you will leave now, or I will have you removed."

I don't think even I have heard that tone of the professor's voice before. It worked, too. I could hear John's footsteps fading away.

"Get some rest, Ms Maximoff," the professor told me needlessly. I think I was already asleep when he said it.

Oh, man. Not the dream again.

It's black here. I turn and I turn and I turn and it's still black. Why is there no light? I reach out blindly, looking for a wall or some other form of purchase. My hands run across cloth and I pull back slightly, shocked. I finally start to be able to see, but I see things that I don't want to see.

There are bodies, faceless bodies surrounding me in ugly hospital uniforms. The faceless people are trying to restrain me again, pushing me down onto a gurney similar to the one I think I fell asleep on.

I'm sleeping. This is a dream. I want to wake up. Why can't I wake up? I want to wake up!

"Wanda! Wake up!"

Finally, my eyes open and immediately wanted to close them again. The fluorescent lights were shining directly into my eyes. When I was prepared to open my eyes again, I saw a blue blur standing next to me.

"Are you alright?"

Okay, the blue blur was not Dr McCoy. German accent. Must be the Nightcrawler.

"No," I answered, willing away the memories of the dream. It occurred to me that his three-fingered hands were the ones holding me down. "Let go."

He did and I tried to sit up. Key word: tried. I was sore as hell from puking, as I had predicted. Muscles that I was _sure_ I didn't use to puke were sore.

"You broke some windows," he told me, "and blew out the lights."

I grunted in answer. What did he want me to do about it?

"Go back to bed, Kurt."

The wolverine had arrived. I could see the Nightcrawler clear enough now that I could see his face lift in worry. Regardless, he made that weird 'bamf' sound and was gone in a puff of smoke.

"Is this why the Brotherhood House always looks like a dump?" the Wolverine asked. I didn't even deign that with an answer.

"Water?" I asked, my voice croaking badly. "Please?"

His boots scuffed out of sight and then back again, carrying a plastic cup. Apparently, I was not enough of a big girl to be able to handle a glass. Still, I gratefully sucked down the water in about two seconds flat. My brother would have been proud.

"You do that a lot?" he asked, leaning against the wall. I realized that not only was I not stable enough to use a glass, I was going to be babysat too.

"Sometimes," I answered, handing over the cup in hopes to get more water. "A lot, lately."

He disappeared briefly again before returning with more water. "The professor might be able to help."

"Xavier's told me that he can't give me anything to stop the dreams," I snapped. "Because believe me, I've asked."

He gave off an aura like I'd insulted him. What a touchy old man.

"It's not my preference to have these shitty dreams," I ranted, "where faceless people hold me down and do things to me and put things in my arms."

I finished my water and laid back down. I probably wouldn't get much more sleep, but at least I could roll on my side and ignore him.

"The professor helped me with my dreams," he quietly spoke, "when I was having problems. That's all I'm saying."

I doubted he knew anything about how I felt about my dreams, but I held my tongue. Eventually, I did fall asleep again. When I woke up, it was because Dr McCoy was removing the bag of saline from where it connected to my IV. I had no idea what time it was, but it didn't matter. I was crabby enough to call it morning.

"Can I go now?" I whined, tired of the weirdness of this place. Dr McCoy smiled a fang-filled smile. It's kind of creepy.

"A few more questions," he told me. "We still haven't figured out why you were so sick."

"I thought you said it was exhaustion," I recalled. Or maybe Pietro had said that. I can't remember.

"Exhaustion will not cause that kind of vomiting," Dr McCoy shook his head. "It was most likely the flu, since you hadn't eaten anything to give you food poisoning."

I sighed in annoyance, but waited for him to ask the questions.

"Are you allergic to any medications?"

I shrugged. I didn't like them, but that didn't make me allergic. "Don't think so."

"Are you sexually active?"

Awkward. "Um, not anymore."

This answer intrigued him. "Meaning?"

"Meaning not for the last two weeks," I elaborated. "Hopefully, not anymore period."

Discussing my sex life with a giant, blue-furred doctor was getting more awkward by the second.

"And how long were you sexually active before that?"

Oh, come on. Leave it alone already. I had to be close to purple by the way my face was blushing. "I don't know, like a month or so? I wasn't counting."

Please be done with the awkward questions! Please be done with the awkward questions!

"How long has it been since your last period?"

Damn it! Son of a bitch!

"I don't count that either," I snapped, thoroughly embarrassed. "Can I go _now_?"

He handed me a small plastic cup with a lid. "I need a urine sample."

Fine. If it will get me out of here faster. I stalked to the bathroom after he unhooked my IV. I couldn't imagine what he wanted from my pee. I knew, though, when I gave it to him, that I wasn't free to go. I climbed back on the gurney and sulked.

"Y'look better, cherie."

I'm sure that I didn't, but I regarded Le Beau anyway. "I'd feel better, too, if they'd let me out of here."

Remy smiled. "S'not dat bad here."

"My last five minutes spent here beg to differ," I muttered. I knew it was going to be asking a lot, but I tried anyway. "Can I ask a favor?"

He looked amused. I took that as a good sign.

"When they finally let me out, will you give me a ride home?" I asked, dreading the walk.

He shrugged. "S'pose."

"Thanks," I told him and then turned to watch Dr McCoy reenter the room.

"Ms Maximoff, it'd be best if you stayed here for a few days," he informed me. My demeanor plummeted. "At least until we can reach your brother."

"Remy was going to drive me home, if that's what you're worried about," I said, but I doubted it was from the look on his face.

"It'd be best if you stayed here," he repeated.

"What's wrong with me?" I demanded. They were sure as hell not keeping me here without giving me a reason first. He looked reluctant to say anything. "Damn it, tell me what's wrong."

"Ms Maximoff," he started, looking at Remy briefly before returning his gaze to me, "you're pregnant."

* * *

**A/N:** Dun dun dun!


End file.
